


+33 - distance is uncertainty

by Lavendelshampoo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Culinary Student Tendou Satori, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Not Beta Read, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pre-Relationship, Pro Volleyball Player Ushijima Wakatoshi, can be read as friends or more, no meetings I'm sorry, only phone calls and messages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendelshampoo/pseuds/Lavendelshampoo
Summary: How are you supposed to feel, when your best friend finally met his dad in California and it took him three months and a chance phone call to tell you?How are you supposed to feel, when your best friend is rumored to sign contract in the Netherlands and it wasn't mentioned at all while on the phone, three days ago?It might as well be nothing more than a journalist’s figment. Yet, there might be some truth to it and Wakatoshi didn’t bring it up. He knows, if that is the case, there were no ill intentions – there never are. But the certainty doesn’t ease the heavy feeling in his chest and it feels like California all over again.In his third year at culinary school, Tendou ponders the limits of their (best friends) long distance relationship.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	+33 - distance is uncertainty

**Author's Note:**

> As I have said many times before, Chapter 395 is my absolute favorite for multiple reasons, but it bothers me to no end that there are three whole months in between Wakatoshi meeting his dad and him telling Tendou about it. Best friends, right? So... what? Why?  
> This is my humble attempt to fix this mess. 
> 
> I was struggling a bit with working out a plausible time line, so I'll put it in the end notes if you're interested in that. It's just my take and the basis for this fic. 
> 
> A fair warning: As the tags say, this whole fic consists of phone calls, thinking about phone calls and messages, so if you were looking for something else, I'm sorry. 
> 
> I want to dedicate this to [shad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vetashad) for giving me the best opening line I could wish for - it encompasses the feeling I was going for perfectly. Thank you shad! <3
> 
> PS: +33 is the country code for France.

_distance is uncertainty when no words have crossed the space for a time_

_~ shad_

1

Satori never used to be one for calls, always preferring messages, but there is just something about Wakatoshi’s voice that is addictive. Among all the strange noises of this new place, all the voices talking in foreign languages, it feels like home and puts him at easy after a busy day. Paris is beautiful but adapting to _le savoir vivre_ does not come as easy as he expected. It’s exhausting to grasps all those new concepts in his daily life and at the _école de cuisine_ , to keep up with studying and practicing, to make new acquaintances, all in a language that he is good at but not yet fluent in. Sometimes it feels like a storm raging around him, but Wakatoshi’s voice on the phone is all it takes to ground him.

They call a lot, in the beginning. There is no need for a special occasion, it doesn’t always have to be a long call, sometimes it’s just a quick ‚Good morning, what’s up today?‘ or a ‚I watched your game, but the connection sucked‘. Sometimes he forgets about time zones and messes up, calling in the middle of the night. Sometimes, on Sundays, Wakatoshi calls him and they just talk about anything and everything. Sometimes he tries for a video call on the way back from his run in the park and takes a different route to show his friend the neighborhood.

They used to call a lot, but time zones and stuffed schedules make it difficult. There always seem to be more appointments, more meetings, more work, more time spent traveling to matches, more special trainings, more extra classes, so calls become less frequent.

He thinks about calling, but most of the time he settles for a short message or a picture: his first attempt at petit fours, the herbs growing in pots at his kitchen window, the neighborhood cat sleeping in Madame Roudaut’s bicycle basket.

He is not scared of calling, but the longer he waits, the more he stalls and thinks before pressing the symbol. Whenever the sudden impulse comes up, time zones don’t cooperate, schedules don’t cooperate, nutritional theory and baking classes leave him too tired, almost falling asleep on his couch after a long day, and exams are coming up. So, he sends more pictures of his cakes and tarts, the link to a song he heard on his way to school, a short apologetical message.

**you (13:59):**

sorry Toshi~ I’m real busy, adult life sucks huh? (〒﹏〒) take care and win, alright?

2

It’s the first time in months that he has a week off work - hell, it’s the first time in months that he has more than 24 hours off in a row. After two days of utter laziness and excessive sleep, relaxation finally kicks in.

Summer has arrived in Paris and it’s beautiful, beckoning everyone outside to enjoy the sun before heat is staunched in the streets and ozone blankets the city. Satori stares at his closet, indicisive whether he wants to go for a run or a walk, so he dresses in comfortable sporty clothes and heads out, listening to music as he lets his feet carry him towards the nearest park.

Mindlessly scrolling the news on the way, he stumbles across an article and stops abruptly. _Japan suffers close loss,_ the headline reads, but all he can do is stare at the picture below. A tingling sensation crawls through his limbs at seeing that broad back, the number, the name – instantly taking him back to all the times on the court when he had a similar view. The corners of his mouth twitch at the mismatch of the beautiful pose midair and the title. _Star „young cannon“ misfires._

He did watch the match and wanted to call afterwards, but it was the day before his first practical examination of the semester and time zones weren’t matching up. Now, seeing that title makes him hit call on impulse.

While the connection is building up, he remembers to check the time. It’s almost 9pm in Japan, so it should be fine, but maybe he’s still at the gym, maybe he’s - Wakatoshi’s deep voice interrupts his thoughts and brushes over him with a warmth like the breezy summer air wafting across the Seine, making him realize instantly how much he has missed this.

“It’s been a while, Tendou.“

Yeah. It has been. And that has to change.

“Hey, Wakatoshi!“, he greets cheerfully, smiling at his phone and can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “Are you fine? Were you sleeping? Awake? I saw the World League, that was close!“

“Yeah, I tested the changed posture…,“ comes the straightforward answer and he lets his friend’s deep voice wash over him while the conversation moves on to a kid, proclaiming that _volleyball ain’t entertaining_. Talking to each other feels like no time has passed at all. People stare as he laughs out loud on the street, but he doesn’t even notice. It feels _good_. It feels _connected_. Joking around still comes easy, teasing comes easy and he grins at the sky. No awkward silences interrupt the conversation, he doesn’t have to be careful with what he says, how he says it, _knows_ that he will be understood. Yet, a nagging feeling insists on settling in the back of his mind, whispering that it has been too long, that this is not enough, and he can’t shake it off completely.

“Have you met your father?“, he asks curiously, changing the topic. They had talked about making the trip in the off-season before but he never heard whether it had worked out or not. Maybe the trip got delayed, maybe the World League made it impossible, schedules too tightly packed with practice and matches.

“Yes“, Wakatoshi answers and he falls quiet, listens to his friend talk about California, about Utsui Takashi, about chance meetings with Seijoh’s Iwaizumi, about learning a new technique and family dinners, only giving an occasional hum.

“Ah, I’m real glad for you, y’know?“, he says softly when Wakatoshi stops. He is but he doesn’t know what else to say, not at the moment. It’s a lot to take in. “You’ll get the hang of your new spike, I’m sure. Show 'em a lil miracle when you do. I’ll watch you.“

The call ends shortly after and he feels strangely hollow. Not sad, not angry, not jealous, just – like something is missing. He knows he’s bound to miss out on many things, due to distance, but this is different. It’s not about missing out on experiencing, it’s about missing out on knowing, _for three months,_ and he wonders whether he should have called earlier – but phones work both ways, right? Scrunching up his nose with a huff, he stuffs his phone into his pockets as he enters the park and starts to run.

3

More than a year passes, and he keeps his promise to himself and calls more often, once or twice a week, depending on their schedules, makes a habit out of it and refuses stubbornly to let anything interfere. Talking to each other never ceases to come easy, even though they haven’t seen each other in almost two years.

He talks about applying to a chocolatery for the practical training they have to do and about his old neighbor Mademoiselle Daguier with her cat that has a habit of wandering into his apartment when he leaves the door open while he gets his laundry from the basement. He talks about cafés he’s been to, his colleagues from various countries, his failed cooking experiments – apparently being good at baking is no guarantee for being good at cooking – and the shockingly long queues in front of the Louvre. Wakatoshi in turn tells him about his games, his training, his teammates and the plants he bought for his apartment.

It feels good to speak Japanese. It feels good to hear his friend’s voice and it makes him feel closer, but somehow feeling closer makes the distance ache more and he notices all that he’s been missing.

He doesn’t mention California again.

4

It’s spring although it doesn’t look like it. The weather is bleak, the trees are bare and the Seine winds herself through Paris like a grey woolen scarf, slow moving and dull. The days might be getting longer but it‘s hard to notice with the sun barely breaching the heavy clouds. Murky morning light floods the kitchen through the high attic windows, tinting the white furnishings in a grayish blue. Satori is sprawled out on his kitchen table, head resting on one outstretched arm, and watches the steam rise from his breakfast coffee, willing himself to wake up when his phone startles him with a quiet ‚pling‘.

He blinks, yawns and draws the device closer, props his head up lazily on one hand to look at the screen. It’s a message from Semi. On second try, he manages to open the conversation.

**semisemi** **★** **(7:31):**

did you know?

There is a link attached, directing him to the website of some minor sports magazine, featuring a volleyball article:

_STAR PLAYER LEAVING JAPAN FOR THE NETHERLANDS?_

_Ushijima rumored to sign contract with the Dutch league_

There isn’t much solid information, just some name-dropping of clubs and a general comment on the current situation in the European leagues but no reliable facts on the matter in question, no statement from any party involved.

Satori blinks and reads the whole thing again. It sounds like wild speculations, untenable assertions that might be completely made up. Still, his stomach churns and his hands suddenly feel cold.

They called three days ago, talked for almost an hour. He even teased Wakatoshi about coming to Europe, now that the season is coming to a close, but the beginning of the off-season is already stuffed with promotional events, TV appearances and extra trainings for the national team. Signing new contracts wasn’t mentioned.

Satori stares at the screen, realizing that Semi knows that he has read his message. Moving slowly, he sits up and takes a sip from his coffee before typing an evasive answer.

**you (7:36):**

go big or go home, eh?

ain’t a real pro till you‘ve played international right?

**semisemi** **★** **(7:36):**

nothing wrong with playing for your country in your country

Semi’s answer comes immediately, and Satori draws his thin brows together, taking another sip of coffee to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth.

There is also nothing wrong with playing in a country that’s closer to France.

He takes a deep breath.

There is nothing wrong with making your own decisions, without consulting your friends or your best friend.

But it feels like California all over again. He feels left out, has to remind himself that it’s just a rumor. It might as well be nothing more than a journalist’s figment. Yet, there might be some truth to it and Wakatoshi didn’t bring it up. He knows, if that is the case, there were no ill intentions – there never are. But the certainty doesn’t ease the heavy feeling in his chest. His fingers move mechanically on the screen, typing an inconspicuous answer.

**you (7:38):**

booooring semisemi~ ヽ( ￣д￣)ノ office work been gettin to you?

**semisemi** **★** **(7:39):**

why do I even bother with you

**you (7:39)**

cmon we both know you miss me ☆ ～('▽^人)

**semisemi** **★** **(7:39):**

sure, whatever

He stares at the screen until it goes black, pondering what to do with that information. A small part of him feels happy about the prospect of being closer – an hour by plane probably, not even half a day by train – ridiculously close compared to now. But he doesn’t trust the article, doesn’t dare to trust the rumors, doesn’t want to get excited just to feel disappointed when it all turns out to be a hoax.

He doesn’t need to add more to a different kind of disappointment already lodged in his chest.

5

He tries not to think about it. Banishes it to the far corners of his mind. If there was anything to say, Wakatoshi would have said it.

_Maybe he will, in three months,_ his brain supplies, and he hates himself for being so petty.

_Maybe he wants to surprise you_ , his thoughts whisper, and he hates himself for being so incorrigibly hopeful.

_Maybe the press got it all wrong_ , he thinks and swallows the disappointment that has been growing with every just too good fact he told himself not to look up (but did anyway).

A flight from Paris to Amsterdam is about 100€ and takes approximately 1 hour and 20 minutes. Considering boarding and luggage, the train is almost as quick and cheaper: 4 hours and 50€. For Groningen, which was also mentioned in the article, it’s basically the same.

Most players on the Dutch teams speak English very well, some German, some French, some Spanish – he has seen that on various interviews. The cities are beautiful: historical old towns, colorful brick buildings, numerous parks and gardens, canals flowing through the centers, yet different from Paris, exuding a slower, more relaxed atmosphere where nature is more present.

He thinks Wakatoshi would like that. But then again, he’s not sure what to think.

So, he breaks his promise and delays calling. It has been three weeks and he’s antsy. Work has been keeping him busy, making it easier to find excuses but it can’t change the fact that the topic is on his mind constantly. He avoids spending much time on his phone as it feeds his guilty conscience, always lurking beneath the surface. It doesn’t help much. The Seine reminds him of canals, the metro reminds him of train prices, the Easter chocolates they prepare remind him of volleyballs.

Still, he doesn’t call, doesn’t trust himself to say the right thing - what is there to say? Wakatoshi is under no obligation to tell him anything, to consult him about his plans. They haven’t seen each other in over two years, so it’s pretty bold to assume he would be the one Wakatoshi goes to for advice.

_You were the first one to leave_ , the little voice in the back of his mind reminds him.

_But at least I told him_ , he retorts stubbornly, clings to it.

_Told, yes. Asked? No._

With a groan, he sits down on the couch between pillows and blankets and turns on the TV to tune out his thoughts, watches the early evening news with moderate interest. “ _C'est complètement débile_ “, he comments in a low murmur on the newest EU agricultural regulations, not really invested but at least trying to focus on the program when he feels a faint vibration. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s his phone, still muted from work.

“Shit,“ he curses quietly, searches under the blankets and pillows and finds it wedged between the couch cushions. The name on the screen makes his heart speed up and he scrambles to hit accept.

“Yeah? Hi, Wakatoshi. You there?“ His answer comes a little breathless and his heart beats in his throat. “Sorry, I, uh, couldn’t find my phone.“

“Is it inconvenient right now?“

“No. No, no, no, it’s fine Wakatoshi, I’m home.“ He pushes the blanket to the side, looking for the remote control to put the TV on mute, furrowing his brows as he notices the time.

“Isn’t it really late at yours?“

“It is. But I don’t have practice tomorrow.“

“Oh, alright.“ Satori sinks back into the cushions and stares at the muted weather forecast, willing his heartbeat to slow down. There is no reason to feel antsy, no reason to feel guilty. “So, everythin’ alright over there?“

“Yes.“ There is a pregnant pause. “You haven’t called in a while.“

_I was busy. I thought you’re busy. I didn’t find the time._ It could all be true, has been true before but he can’t bring himself to tell a little white lie. The weather forecast switches to a map of Europe, showing the high- and low-pressure areas, and he exhales slowly. Dancing around the topic much longer won’t do any good, yet he has to force the next words over his lips.

“So… are you playing for Groningen next season? Amsterdam?“

The silence is deafening and every second grates on his nerves, makes him feel stupid for even asking. He tried for a neutral tone but settled somewhere between ironic and flippant and regrets it now.

“No.“ There is another small pause. “Who told you?“

Satori grimaces at the faint stab of that _No_ , suddenly glad they’re not in a video call.

“There was an article. Thought it must be fake.“

“It’s not fake. But I have decided against it.“

“Have you now, huh? I see.“

Somehow that’s even worse. To know that there actually was the possibility, to know that they could have discussed this. He doesn’t understand why they didn’t. The weatherman smiles into the camera and the program switches to a short commercial, then to a documentary about pyramids.

“Tendou…“

Wakatoshi’s voice is soft and warm and there is an underlying question implied in the way he says his name, but he is tired of guessing.

“Yeah, what’s up?“ Again, he tries for a carefree tone and fails.

“You sound…“ The line falls quiet for a while before Wakatoshi settles on a word, sounding somewhat unsure of it. “…sad.“

Satori breathes deeply, swallows hard and grabs the phone a little tighter. Something inside his chest comes loose and he lets out a dry laugh that’s almost a sob, blinks hard and stares at the pyramids on the screen. Apparently, he‘s so good at fooling others that he‘s also quite capable of fooling himself, bottling it all up until it inadvertently comes apart at the sound of Wakatoshi’s voice – the one person he can never fool. Even the thought of trying to comes close to committing sacrilege.

“Yeah,“ he admits quietly, when he has regained enough control over his voice. “Yeah, you could say that… why didn’tcha tell me, Wakatoshi?“

He doesn’t want to ask, but he has to know.

He hears Wakatoshi take a deep breath and braces himself for what is to come.

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.“

Satori’s breath catches and Wakatoshi goes on.

“It was a good offer, but it‘s not the right time. Not with the Olympics in summer and new members on the team for the Adlers as well. It’s not the appropriate moment. They need me.“

“Huh, what an altruistic thing to say.“ He forces his tongue and lips to work around the words, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. There is a tiny spark of pride at hearing that _they need me_ , but it’s no more than a brittle barge riding on the raging waves of his feelings that he’s trying his hardest to control. He isn’t prepared for the heavy sigh on the other end of the line that sounds much like regret.

“It is a sensible decision. I am still working on my techniques. A stable environment is very helpful in this regard. Karasuno’s setter might join us and I’m interested in working with him. Still… I would have liked to be closer to you.“

The phone suddenly feels hot against his ear and his heart beats heavy in his chest as frustration, resentment and weariness mingle with hope, with longing. “What,“ he manages flatly, not intending a question, unsure whether he has drifted off and imagined it.

“I would have liked to be closer to you. In the Netherlands,“ Wakatoshi repeats, his deep voice even and sincere. “I thought you might have like that too.“

He swallows against the tight feeling in his throat and the sphinx on the TV screen becomes blurred. Blinking rapidly, he rubs the palm of his free hand on the fabric of his pants to ground himself by feeling the friction. It’s real, isn’t it? He lets his head drop back until it hits the backrest of the couch and blinks again, at the ceiling, pressing the phone a little too hard to his ear.

“Yeah. Yeah, Wakatoshi, I would. I would love that.“ _I didn’t want to get your hopes up_. His throat still feels tight and his eyes prickle, but a warmth has settled in his middle and flows through him, gently calming the vast ocean of feelings he can’t quite decipher. There still is disappointment, but there’s also reassurance.

“Will you be coming home this year?“, Wakatoshi changes the topic after a long pause, filled with a different kind of silence than before.

Satori takes a breath, observes how it passes in his throat, less constricted, and runs a hand over his short-cropped hair. “I dunno, probably not. I’m savin’ for a car. Just a really small one, or maybe a Vespa. And the rent went up, so…,“ he explains.

“I’ll come to France then, after the Olympics. If you have time.“

He laughs at that and shifts on the couch so he’s lying down, feet dangling over the armrest. Little by little, the tension oozes out and makes room for what he missed even more than home: talking to his best friend, feeling like they’re still best friends, feeling _close_. “I’d fake my own death to have time for that.“

“Please don’t do that.“

“It would solve the rent-problem, y’know? I could live in a coffin. Like a really cool vampire, in the catacombs. You have to see the catacombs! So spooky.“

“You can show me when I’m there.“

“Oh yeah, I’ll show you a lot!“

“It’s not about sightseeing. I want to see you.“

A broad grin spreads across his face and he grabs one of the pillows to cuddle, hugging it close to cage up the giddy feeling. “Smooth, miracle boy. Been polishing your conversation skills, huh?“

“I’ve never had trouble talking to you.“

Satori groans inwardly because it’s just too much, the words, the sincere tone, but there is also a little pang of pain and he knows, if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

“Wakatoshi, y’know you can talk to me about anything, right?“, he asks quietly, playing with a cord on the pillow. “You don’t have to but… if you ever need someone to… I might not have the world’s greatest advice to offer, but I’ll listen. Call me anytime, alright?“

There is another long pause that makes his fingers tingle and he tries to stay relaxed, tries to hold on to the warm feeling that’s still sloshing around inside him.

“Thank you, Satori. I should have talked to you earlier.“

The use of his given name sends a shiver down his spine and his first reaction is to be polite and deny it, but they’re being honest right now, so he takes a deep breath and is honest.

“Yeah. You should have.“ It sounds demanding, but a stubborn part of him insists that it’s alright to be demanding from time to time. Thinking about it now, if anything, being too considerate has brought this upon them. “You don’t _have_ to, but… I want you to. I want to _know_ , Toshi. It’s bad enough, sometimes, that I’m not there.“

“I understand“, Wakatoshi replies quietly, not taken aback the slightest and he believes him, but there is still one issue left, stuck in his mind like a splinter.

“I wanna ask you one more thing, alright?“, he starts, working up the courage to say it. It seems petty now, after all that has already been said, but he needs to know to let go of it. “Why didn’tcha call from California? Or, well, afterwards…“

He waits for the answer, impatiently, hears Wakatoshi shift around on what’s probably his bed. His gaze flickers to the TV program where a sarcophagus is opened and chuckles at the irony of it. Sure feels like he’s digging up some bones himself. 

“I thought…“ He can hear how carefully Wakatoshi is picking out his words in the tone of his voice and it brings back that warm feeling, tempering his nervousness. “…you would feel more left out if I called you. You should have been there, but wasn’t possible, I know that. I didn’t want… to make you feel guilty for not being able to come. I don’t blame you.“

Satori wants to laugh at how badly they both messed up with too much consideration and too little talk, because – what else is there to do but laugh at the irony of it? They messed up with the best of intentions. But Wakatoshi isn’t done yet, taking all the wind out of his sails with a few choice words.

“Satori, I am deeply impressed by what you do. Don’t ever believe otherwise.“

A bright flush creeps up on his cheeks and he can’t fight the broad grin that spreads across his face, once again glad that they are not on video call. “Geez, stop it, Wakatoshi. You’re the miracle boy here, remember?“, he answers jestingly, rubbing at his heated cheeks with one hand and wrinkling his nose.

„You are, too.“

It’s just too much. He tries for a witty answer, but all that comes out is an exasperated chuckle, turning into quiet laughter. It might be improper, but he can’t help it, not when all the tension and unease are finally fading away. Trying to get a grip and catch his breath, he sits upright, pulls his legs close and props his head up on his knees, a fond smile on his lips.

“Nah, don’t lie to me, you’ve been practicing. Can’t remember you ever bein’ so smooth,“ he teases and smirks at nothing in particular. Wakatoshi chuckles and once again it feels like a warm wave washing over him. He basks in that feeling for a moment, allowing relaxation to take over, allowing himself to let go of California, of the Netherlands, of everything that’s between them besides 9715 kilometers.

„So, Karasuno’s setter, huh?“, he asks and toys with a loose thread on his blanket, silently counting the weeks till after the Olympics in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 Kudos, comments and critique are always much appreciated!! Feel free to talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/lavendelshampoo) my dms are always open. 
> 
> If you're interested, here's my timeline for the fic:  
> 2013 March – 3rd years leaving school / Tendou starting culinary school in September  
> 2014 April - meeting in California  
> 2014 June - World League  
> 2014 June – Tendou calls from Paris (Ch.395)  
> 2016 early spring - rumors about going abroad  
> 2016 spring – 3rd year Kageyama leaves school and joins Adlers (?) + National Team  
> 2016 August - Rio Olympics; Tendou finishes culinary school, starts chocolatier training  
> 2018 autumn – Ushijima signs a contract for Poland after the next season  
> 2018/2019 season - Adlers vs. Jackals match  
> 2019 spring - moving to Poland  
> 2019 autumn - filming the documentary in Paris  
> 2021 - documentary airing + Tokyo Olympics
> 
> This is a mix of "facts" from the manga and stuff I made up, so it's totally open for discussion, feel free to share your ideas with me! Once again, thank you for reading! <3


End file.
